


Scrabble

by TeyrianTimelord



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Appearance by Mrs. Hudson, Appearance by Sherlock, Appearance by the Watsons, F/M, Fluff, shameless fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-31
Updated: 2014-12-31
Packaged: 2018-03-04 10:51:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3065075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeyrianTimelord/pseuds/TeyrianTimelord
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The story of the Q mug.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scrabble

**Author's Note:**

> OKAY, THIS IS THE LAST ONE, I PROMISE!!!! I needed one last hit of Molly/Q fluff before my hiatus. Enjoy~

Molly blinked several times, feeling as if she was in an episode of the Twilight Zone. She had spent half an hour primping and preening, and even longer cleaning, terrified out of her wits of what first impression she would give when arguably the smartest man she knew visited her flat for the first time. So far they had only met for coffee twice and lunch once, and she still felt tongue tied around him, worse than Sherlock, worried that everything she said would seem stupid or immature. He was quirky, but still so sophisticated, not at all like the creeps (and occasional sociopaths…) she had dated in the past. Molly was terrified that one little mistake would send him running. But there she was, opening the door in her nicest business casual dress complete with high heels, while Q stood on her front step in pajama pants and a two-sizes-too-big sweater… holding a board game. Scrabble to be precise.

“I’m sorry, did you want to go out tonight?” he asked, too sincerely for Molly to be comfortable.

“Oh, um, no, of course not. I mean, we planned a night in, right? So, yeah, come in,” she stammered. 

Dear god, she must have looked like such a moron!

However, Q either didn’t notice or was polite enough not to say anything. 

“I’m just going to get into something more comfortable. I mean, not in the weird sense like ladies always say on telly, just, like, pajamas,” she continued, already feeling herself beginning to fall apart. 

“Sure. Do you want me to order takeaway?”

“Whatever you want,” Molly called over her shoulder as she bolted into her room and quickly threw off the dress. 

Think, think, something sweet, something nice, she kept whispering silently as she dug through her sweatpants and night clothes. The closest things she owned to attractive pajamas were a pair of pink flannel pants with yellow ducks on them and a purple fuzzy bathrobe. She slipped on a peach tank top, nearly tripped putting on the bottoms, and had to put the bathrobe on twice since she almost walked back into the living room wearing it inside out. No way was Q going to want to go out with her again after this disaster! Doing her best to hold back the urge to hide in a corner out of embarrassment, she took a deep breath to steady herself. When she entered the living room, however, she was back on the classic sci-fi channel. Q had the Scrabble board set up on the coffee table and was reclining on the sofa with Toby curled up on his chest, purring as the young man scratched the back of his fuzzy orange head. Sherlock and Jim had both despised her cat.

“I see you’ve met Toby,” she said in an attempt to break the awkward tension.

“And he is an absolute delight,” Q replied, gently putting the tabby aside so he could sit up (much to the feline’s vocalized displeasure). “I was hoping we could play a round before dinner arrives. Do you like Scrabble?” 

Molly clutched the belt of her robe and wrung it through her hands. She hadn’t played Scrabble since secondary school! Even then she had been subpar at best; science was her forte from start to finish. How he could be a computer expert and language enthusiast made Molly squirm. It was like lab assisting for Sherlock all over again.

“It’s been a long time, but I’m sure I can figure it out.”

Q gave a chucking smile that made her heart melt. She desperately wanted him to like her, and wasn’t sure if she would ever forgive herself if she blew her chances over a stupid board game. Still twisting her hands, Molly sat on the other side of the table and examined the letters he had already laid out on her tile holder (or whatever the hell that thing was called). L, A, M, I, D, B, and Q. She winced. What kind of word could she possibly make with those without looking like she had the vocabulary of a child? Much to her relief, Q played the first move. However, the feeling quickly died as ROUTINE took form on the board. Seven letters. One word in and he was already crushing her. He had an entertained sparkle in his eye, but Molly only felt dread. Biting her lip, she quickly played QUID. 

“Q on your first word. A woman after my own heart,” he praised sweetly, making Molly blush. 

As the game went on, Molly felt less and less self-conscious. No matter what she played, even if it was only a three letter words, he found something endearing to say. Granted, it was like playing against a dictionary and she had no hope whatsoever of winning, but his cute quips and playful comments made it bearable, even more so when the pizza arrived. They were so busy eating and chatting that the game flowed almost like second nature. It was as if Scrabble had flipped a switch with Q. He was no longer the MI6 computer coding genius youngest Holmes who had asked her out for coffee after an afternoon in a morgue. Now, crafting words she had never heard before out of wooden tiles, even though the brains were still showing, he was any other guy just having a good time. Not analyzing her, not making droll comments, just being normal. Molly wasn’t sure if she was having a better time playing or watching him. 

When all the tiles had finally run out, Molly couldn’t help but laugh hysterically.

“So, wordsmith, is there a word for how horribly I failed compared to you?” she joked between gasps for air. 

“No, no, you played beautifully,” he answered, also laughing. “I expected as much.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

She had meant it playfully, but the second it came out of her mouth she realized how terrible it sounded. It only got worse when the grin slipped off his face and was replaced by a taut line of pursed lips, returning the air of seriousness that had been absent for the entire evening. Molly wanted to slap herself in the face. It had all been going so well! How could she be so dense?! 

“It means,” he said earnestly, staring her down with a gaze that made her feel like crying. “You won me the moment you played that Q.” 

***   
“Oh, Molly, you look lovely,” Mrs. Hudson cooed as she and Q walked into 221B. “And Sherrinford, so handsome.”

“Q,” he corrected with a groan. “Sherlock, my name is classified. I have told you countless times to stop telling it to people.”

The middle Holmes ignored him and continued playing a waltz on the violin, causing his younger brother to roll his eyes. Mary handed them some champagne while John collected coats, and Greg gave a curt wave from the other side of the living room. Molly instantly regretted the choice to wear a strapless dress the moment she let John hang up her sweater. Unlike last Christmas, Sherlock’s flat was freezing. He probably forgot to pay for heating without his blogger around to remind him of things as pedestrian as bills. However, just as she started shivering, a pair of long arms pulled her into a warming embrace.

“Do we need to get you into something else?” he whispered, just barely touching his lips to the shell of her ear. “Something warmer and less distracting?”

He kissed the nape of her neck, tickling the sensitive skin enough to make her giggle. Though Sherlock kept playing, she could see him eyeing them from across the room. His face was a cocktail of annoyance, disgust, and intrigue all at the same time. It was obvious that various deductions and judgments were running through his head at the speed of light, but for once, Molly couldn’t have cared less. When he finally finished his piece, she gave him a light applause with everyone else as they settled in on the sofa, but also slipped in her own stare in an attempt to make it as clear as possible that she was not going to let him ruin yet another Christmas. It earned her a smirk.

“I’ll start the gift exchange,” Mary announced, simultaneously tossing two identically shaped boxes impeccably wrapped in gold paper to John and Sherlock. 

“I don’t wear cologne,” Sherlock stated blandly without even opening it. 

The comment earned him a smack to the back of the head from Mrs. Watson, but she looked far from angry. They went in rounds. Knitted mittens to Sherlock and John from Mrs. Hudson, nice bottles of wine to each couple from Greg, tins of homemade biscuits from Molly to the rest of the group. However, she waited until after distributing the trifles to take the only wrapped package out of her purse. The room fell silent and all eyes landed on her, the memory of last Christmas still fresh in their minds. She took great care to avoid looking directly at Sherlock, still mortified. Swallowing hard, praying that this year would be better, she gingerly handed it over to Q, who offered a quaint smile in return. Everyone watched his face carefully as he unwrapped it with the same deftness as when he typed; fingers moving swiftly and seamlessly. Molly inhaled sharply when he made it through the paper and into the box. Panic seized her lungs when he didn’t react right away. Did he think it was too boring? Too dull? Oh no, oh no, oh no. She squeezed her eyes shut, too afraid to look. The prolonged noiselessness was unbearable.

“Molly, I’m afraid you’ve rendered me speechless,” Q finally breathed. “I have no idea what to say.”

She hesitantly peaked one eye open. 

“You don’t hate it?”

Putting the box down in his lap, Q leaned over and put his hands on either side of Molly’s face, forcing her to look into his eyes. There was nothing harsh or criticizing in them at all. Just a softness that even she could tell was nothing more or less than affection. He ran his thumb over her lips, despite the pink smear it caused from her lipstick, just as he did whenever she had a bad day at work, and she couldn’t keep from cracking a smile. 

“I adore it.”

***   
“That’s cute,” R commented as she walked by Q’s office. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he mumbled, not bothering to look up from his laptop. 

He had three Double 0 agents he had to guide this week at different corners of the world and only 14 hours to finish 20 hours of preliminary mapping. He was already hot tempered over working the day after Christmas, running on three hours of sleep and six cups of tea. All he could think about was eating leftover Chinese and going back to bed; the last thing he wanted was to chat with R about what she thought was ‘cute.’ 

“The new mug. It suits you,” she explained before hurrying back out onto the tech floor of Q-Branch with the rest of his underlings. 

This made him pause. He was overworked, underfueled, and fed up at the least. To describe him as ‘disgruntled’ would be generous, and ‘grumpy’ an understatement. Just by lunch time he had somehow managed to make one intern cry and another quit his job, while 004 said she was going to break his specs in half if he snapped at her one more time. Needless to say he was in one of the worst moods since living in the same house as his older brothers. But that wasn’t the thought on his mind when he glanced down at the mug on the edge of his desk. He didn’t think of the stress or the work or even the gnawing hunger. 

He only bit back a smile and thought of the next chance he would get to watch Molly play Scrabble.


End file.
